


Piece of Cake

by Mytha



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baking, Crush, F/F, Fluff, Mutual Oblivious Pining, Pining, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19328488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/pseuds/Mytha
Summary: Marian Hawke is not a great baker - but Aveline is a friend in need of a cake.





	Piece of Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yulons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yulons/gifts).



Marian Hawke places the book of recipes on the long kitchen counter with a resolute thud and sighs. The kitchen is not her usual domain. But what is a girl to do if her long-time crush asks for help with a cake? Besides, the promise of something as cozily domestic as baking a cake lures her with its nostalgia and fragments of happy childhood memories.

She has prepared as well she could. Bodhan, the gardener and a fatherly friend, has shown her how to use the oven. She has watched tutorials, she has studied and she has bought the finest ingredients available. Fresh, cooled butter, cream, milk and eggs are in the fridge. Fragrant lemons from Antiva already fill the space with their irresistible scent, as do the vanilla beans – or is she imagining it? 

She is not sure exactly why Aveline wants to bake this cake, but her musings on the subject are interrupted by the arrival of the woman herself. 

“Hawke,” Aveline says simply by way of greeting, as she seems uncharacteristically hesitant standing in the doorway of the Amell mansion's kitchen. 

Hawke feels her heart pick up its beat at the sudden sight of her friend in plain clothes. “Aveline!” she greets her with a beaming smile. “I have everything ready.” She could swear she can see a corresponding twitch of Aveline's lips. The woman is stern, but happily not immune to Hawke's charms. 

“Antivan _Torta al Limone_ ,” Hawke announces, flipping open the book of recipes to the marked page. “Luckily the book assures us it is an easy cake to make. Besides, it is supposed to be delicious – and we can have cream with it!” 

Aveline breathes a sigh of what Hawke imagines is relief and Hawke feels a little more confident herself, now that they are here and ready to go. 

“Oh, I have aprons!” Hawke remembers and grabs one then tosses the other at Aveline, who catches it one-handedly, reflexes impressive as always. Hawke sighs in admiration, then feels color rush to her face as Aveline takes off her jacket and puts on the apron. 

It has been a while since Hawke has seen Aveline's arms – not since Aveline has started her job with the city police and her own moving in to the Amell Estate. No more vigilante crime fighting in tank tops, which is a shame. Aveline's arms are as strong and beautiful as Hawke remembers. Muscles strain under alabaster skin dusted with freckles. She notices she is staring and quickly busies herself putting on her own apron. 

“Alright,” Hawke surmises when they both look ready to go. “The book says to sift the flour, so you should do that while I get the other ingredients from the larder.” Best to keep her mind on the job at hand. 

Aveline nods and sets to work. When Hawke returns, balancing ingredients precariously and wishing she had brought a basket, Aveline is red-faced - and scowling at the small crater of flour that has formed around the too-small bowl. Oh no. 

“Ah! Don't worry!” Hawke rushes forward, eager to help, setting all she has gathered in her arms down on the counter with haste. Two eggs, propelled from their bowl by the impact, roll over the edge of the counter and shatter at their feet. “Aw shit!” Hawke yells. 

They do not move and for a second Hawke thinks it is her own hard breathing she can hear over-loud in her ears – until the hulking, canine shape of Bryce the mabari appears from the shadows to quickly gobble up the shattered eggs.

“Well,” Hawke surmises, watching the dog retreat again, “that takes care of that.”

Aveline, grimacing, brushes back the strands of hair from her face leaves a trail of flour in her finger's wake. She leans over the book. “Next step: mix flour, baking soda and a pinch of salt,” she reads. 

Hawke obligingly hands her the required ingredients and watches her forcefully mixing them together as the ring around the bowl still grows. There is a hand-mixer in one of the drawers, but Hawke would feel foolish bringing it out now. Besides, she thinks a little guiltily, this method allows her to watch Aveline's muscles at play. 

When she can tear herself away from the spectacle, Hawke leans over to read on. “Beat butter and sugar together in a bowl. I will do that, then.”

It is a difficult task. The butter is very hard and Hawke struggles, feeling Aveline's gaze on her. Well, it is her own fault for not mentioning the mixer. Surely the hair at the back of her neck will burst into flames any moment now, scorching hot as it feels. 

“Let me help you.” Aveline suddenly says and steps up behind her, leaning into her and taking hold of the wooden spoon. 

Shit. Hawke freezes. It takes a moment for her to realize that this is merely a sign that she is relieved of her duty and Aveline means to take over the task. Yes, Aveline is better suited to it, her strength is no match for the ill-behaved butter, though Hawke now worries for spoon and bowl. 

When the mixture looks even enough, Hawke remembers there must be a next step coming up in the process, and quickly buries her nose in the recipe book. “I will get the eggs and vanilla,” she announces and does so. 

Thankfully this step produces no further mishaps and soon she and Aveline smile at each other when the paste in the bowl looks yellow and smooth with specks of black vanilla. “We're good at this!” Hawke cannot help but crow. Aveline merely gives a short laugh in response. Hawke feels positively weightless with elation. 

“What now?” Aveline asks and Hawke forces herself to concentrate on the recipe again.

“We add it all together – as well as the cream, milk, lemon zest and lemon juice. We might need a bigger bowl,” she remarks a little hesitantly. “How do you get lemon zest?”

“I think it is the peel.” Aveline sounds not at all certain. What is this look she is giving Hawke?

Hawke carefully peels one of the lemons and hands it to Aveline to squeeze while she chops the peel into the smallest pieces possible. 

The bowl is precariously full when they combine everything and Hawke cannot but work carefully when she stirs the mixture. “Why do they call it 'fold' anyways? Hey, why is this fizzy?” 

Aveline's face is hard to read, but she looks flushed with the effort of baking, much like Hawke has sometimes seen her glow in battle. It makes her look all the more striking.

“Careful!” Aveline suddenly yelps.

Cradling the bowl Hawke has managed to tip it towards herself – and now a good measure of dough is dripping thickly down her apron. “Sorry! Shit. Sorry!” 

“There is still enough for the cake. Where is the pan?” 

Hawke thanks the Maker for her friend's practicality. “On the shelf – there!” She indicates with her head, careful not to upset the blasted bowl again. 

Aveline retrieves it and then begins to spread a thick layer of butter down its sides. 

“Oh! Good!” Hawke praises her, relieved and eager. “I would not have remembered to do that.”

Aveline laughs. “They did tell me you needed help with this cake.”

It takes a moment before what she heard truly hits Hawke. “I needed help with this cake?”

“ Yes, to make it for your mother's birthday. Merril said that as Bethany is with the Wardens now, she can no longer do it so you -” Aveline's words slow to a halt. 

“My mother's birthday is two months away.” 

“Then why did you need this cake?”

“Merril and Isabela said _you_ needed a cake!”

“ _Me_? What for?”

“I did not ask! _You needed a cake!_ ”

They stare at each other speechlessly for a moment until Hawke cannot help but dissolve into giggles. “Maybe they just wanted cake.” 

“If so, surely there would be better people to ask. Maker, Isabela could just have stolen one.” 

“So now you approve of Isabela stealing cakes?”

“I do not _approve_ , Hawke.” 

“Well,” Hawke gasps, trying to stifle the urge to laugh, “this was fun in any case.”

Aveline's face softens. “It was,” she says and Hawke could swear Aveline looks at her a little more fondly. “Let's finish this?” 

Together they carefully pour the mixture in the cake pan – they have made too much, of course, even after spilling a lot. 

When the cake is in the oven and Aveline proudly takes her by the shoulder Hawke feels like she could take on the world. She will have to thank Merril and Isabela for this experience – maybe with a special cake.


End file.
